Makarov, Taras

[Guest]

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CASE FILE: Alchemist/Alkahestrist RIOTE Amestrian Militant

”Nothing to lose, everything to gain. Just try to fucking stop me.”
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FULL NAME:
→ Taras Makarov

AGE:
→ 23

SEX:
→ Male

BIRTH PLACE:
→ Moskovsky, Drachma

RACE:
→ Drachman

DEPARTMENT:
→ Unknown

DATE OF BIRTH:
→ May 17, 1989

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HEIGHT:
→ 184 cm

WEIGHT:
→ 62kg

PICTURE:

Spoiler:

DESCRIPTION:
→ In line with the cold harsh wastes of Drachma, Taras has an appearance that similarly suits such a place. His body language is very closed-off and stiff, and he seems to have difficulty relaxing. His skin is a pale white color, with small scars and the like dotted over his body--he won't speak on most of them, and the rest are too invisible for him to care. His body is well-built and solid, a sign of a great deal of work put into its up-keep; in fact he spends a lot of his time working out in order to pass the hours by.

His eyes are a deep sea green color, harsh and thin, always watching with a scrutinizing gaze. For some reason, the green of one eye is a slightly paler color, though he figures that it's just a weird genetic thing. His hair is short, spiky and black--he tends to not care about it, so it's often rather unkempt. He speaks in a relatively emotionless and simplistic voice, not too deep but not so high that it can seem feminine. He has a heavy Drachman accent in his words, and can occasionally say Amestrian words incorrectly. He's working on fixing this, but it's not as easy as you'd hope.

As for clothing, when he's not (begrudgingly) wearing the Briggs military uniform, he can often be seen in a black suit and white shirt, with a tie. He will also smoke occasionally, as it 'calms his nerves'. When outside, he'll also usually wear a grey coat, lined with fur. He walks with a careful and calm gait, trying to show as little weakness as possible in every situation; his face itself tends to show little other than annoyance and indifference--if he smiles, you've done something right (or he's snapped).

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PERSONALITY:
→ On the outside, Taras is a cold, harsh, quiet individual. He appears to view everyone with the same level of scrutiny, consistently throwing their motives and reasoning in the air out of suspicion. He is a skeptic through and through, questioning almost everything that he comes across in a manner that can almost be seen as frustrating. If he meets someone new, he will initially be suspicious of them—he doesn't know enough about these new people to be able to properly judge them or their actions on first impressions alone. He can be quite perceptive, but it requires time on his part to be able to get to that level of seeing. Because he likes to distance himself from other people, it gets even more difficult for him to understand other people completely. It takes a certain level of person to get across to him and communicate how they feel towards him—patience is required when dealing with Taras.

He holds little love for anyone but himself, as a man who has nothing left to lose. He is selfish and cold-hearted, but he does this in order to protect both he and everyone else from himself. He is strong enough to resist suicide, but at the same time he wonders if his mentality will hold up any longer with this loneliness. He dreads the feeling of being alone, but has resigned himself to being in that state forever. Because of this, he will not actively pursue romance or friendship right now—again, it requires a certain sort of personality to get through to him and break that mold.

At the same time, he is difficult to anger because of this cold shell. It requires a lot of pushing and shoving to get him to snap, but because he bottles up his anger and emotions, it's occasionally exactly what he needs. When he finally gets visibly angry, this anger will last for approximately fifteen seconds, thrown directly at the last thing to bring up his anger. Once that fifteen seconds are up, he will generally have calmed down, turn apologetic and attempt to leave as quickly as possible. He gets frustrated easily, and will bite back to insults quite quickly--getting hostile with others in a manner of minutes, but not necessarily angry.

Although he acts like it, he is not devoid of emotion at all. Due to past experiences, he has found it difficult to control and contain his emotion, as such he fears it and would rather keep it locked away where it can't hurt him. He fears being left alone and hurt, so he attempts to shell himself up as much as possible. His internal thoughts will almost always be different to his external appearances, and he prefers to keep it that way. It will likely change when someone finally breaks through. Until then, however, he will address most people without emotion. When he does show emotion, it can be likened to a dam breaking from the pressure.

Although he won't show it to other people, Taras is almost constantly under a lot of stress and pressure. The lost memories of his former wife tug at one side of his mind, and the worry that someone may come and take away the memories of his daughter are at another. He worries that he was never a good enough father, and he worries that he will never be able to try that again. He worries so much about the past, that he has never been able to let go of it and move forwards—this is the major reason as to why he closes himself off so much. He wishes that he could go back and change things. He wishes that he could've just lived a life with his wife and child without all of this militaristic bullshit. He wants to meet Truth again to fix it all so desperately, that he doesn't focus on the future. He refuses to seek closure—and this has left him broken.

He is also rather intelligent and perceptive; his quiet nature allowing him to sit back and take in all of the information, rather than jumping directly to conclusions. This allows for him to think through situations in a more careful and methodical way than most people would. Within this cold and harsh shell, though, there exists a kind-hearted man who simply wants someone to care about. He had devoted so much of his life to being The Raven that he could never really do anything else he wanted to. He can't see that this potential lies in his possible future, only that he lost this potential in the past. All-in-all, Taras is presently a broken shell of a man, stuck in the past and never living for the future—a man who desperately needs people to break his shell and reveal the loving soul within.

LOVE:

• Memories of his daughter.
  
• The cool air of Briggs.
  
• Watching birds fly.
  
• Sitting around, alone.
  
• Reading and doing puzzles.

HATE:

• Annoyances.
  
• People who shit on the memories he has.
  
• RIOTE.
  
• Most people he doesn't yet know.
  
• RIOTE
  
• Opening up to people.
  
• RIOTE

DEEPEST SECRET:
→ He attempted (and failed) human transmutation in order to get his daughter back.

IDOL:
→ That strange red-headed man from Briggs.

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HISTORY:
→ As always, the first memory begins on a cold winter's night. The feeling of a blizzard blowing through the cold streets of a small Drachman town would permeate his flesh as he slowly walked forwards. He was seventeen, having just left school, preparing himself for military service in three months—he was to start his basic training soon, and he would be leaving for Moscow not long afterwards. With nothing to do in his life but walk and smoke, he would do only that, staring at the people at the edges of the street who shied away from his presence. It was clear that they would; he had a reputation within Moskovy—not as a delinquent, but as someone who would easily pick a fight with the largest and most brutish bastards he could find, and win within minutes of starting. He had been like that throughout his school life; it was a fact that he could not change—his parents were questioned, but they stated that it was a good thing for him. It meant that he could take care of himself whenever he needed; in fact, it was at their behest that he start learning martial arts as well—his training gave him even more power, and he became feared among the populace.

But that didn't stop one person from approaching him on this night. He couldn't remember if they were from this town, or out of it—but they named themselves ███████. She had hair that seemed like pure silk in the harsh weather, but her face itself was completely obscured from his view. No matter what direction he tried to approach this view from, she never had a whole face for him to look at. For some reason, though, he remembers that they started to talk—even her voice was obscured and strange. What was going on? Why did she seem so mysterious? As his confused mind attempted to place the pieces together, the image just continued to obscure, the entire figure of the woman becoming fuzzy to him. Her hand gripped his, but there was no warmth in it. Although this being had grabbed his hand, he so desperately felt like it was right—yet his mind was telling him to get away. He didn't know what it was. He didn't want to know. He just wanted to get away. Yet he couldn't... he could only watch this memory continue onwards, no matter how much he felt frightened of the mysterious being that locked with his fingers.

The next memory begins three months later; a memory of training that finally began for the expectant male. He had begun to date ████, and she seemed to be sad that he was leaving her to train. He told her things about coming back, despite still being frightened of her mysterious appearance that he had never gotten to fully see—even when they had made love for the first time, or when they had kissed.. when had they kissed? He couldn't recall. But it didn't matter right now. He was on his way to this training camp for the Drachman military, and that was the main thing on his mind. The first thing he new commander said to him was “Name?”, he recalls that much. ”Taras Makarov, sir!” was his reply—the man was happy enough with his response that he walked away. The tension was too much for him at times, but he wanted to do this so that he could apply his strength elsewhere—in a productive fashion.

It was during this time that he took up smoking cigarettes to calm his nerves, along with a few of the other soldiers in training. They would go around the back and take a puff or two without the knowledge of the CO, and it would be some of the best times that Taras remembered of that cold and harsh camp. Even when they were caught and beaten, they could look at each other with grins. What were their names? The one with the shaved head and the scar above his left eye, that was Nevsky. Nevsky came from a small town, above fifty kilometres away from Moscow—he was the brains who smuggled in the cigarettes when he could. When they found this out, he was dragged off—Taras didn't see him again after that day. What about the guy with the anchor tattooed onto his right shoulder? This name always eluded him, but he was pretty certain that it was Viktor—the guy was as big as a bear, but kind and soft. He didn't seem like the type to be in the military; yet he would always go on about having his reasons. The last member of Taras' ragtag little group never spoke of his name, but they would always call him “пыльник” (duster), because of the large overcoat that he wore for almost everything casual. He rarely spoke, and when he did it was in short sentences—but he was loyal to Taras and the others, speaking up for Nevsky when he was caught, taking the blame for offences that he could and securing small windows of time for the group to enjoy themselves. Even though he didn't know that guy's name, Taras considered Duster to be his best friend.

After the eight month window of training was completed, the trio (now sans Nevksy) were released to be separated into their specific sections of the Drachman military. As far as he knew, Viktor was released for demolitions—at least he was pretty certain of that due to the guy's affinity for explosives and the like. He didn't hear exactly what Duster had on his plate, but he assumed that it would be something good. His own path, however, laid in the field of Special Operations. He'd been keeping ██████ updated with letters that he never recalled the information of, and when he returned, discovered that she was seven months pregnant—but he didn't know why. Had he made love with her? He was certain that someone had, but he didn't know enough to make a proper judgement. His first visit to this person in all of this time was preceded with a proposal, or so he thought. The ring was cheap, but he couldn't afford too much. It was... he didn't know where he was. He remembered water, and a candlelit dinner—but he couldn't see her face light up in joy, nor could he hear her happiness bleed out of every syllable. He just knew that somewhere, somehow, he had made a person that he knew nothing about so very happy.

A week later, he was assigned to his first mission—barely old enough to be an adult, and he was consigned to a small group of commandos, codenamed REDFOX. He himself was codenamed RAVEN, and this group were sent deep into the mountains of the border to Xing to root out possible invaders. They spent three days trekking through this cold range to discover the camp, with little knowledge of direction and no hope of returning home without a successful mission. On the third day, their water ran dry and they couldn't make a fire—they were convinced of their death. They would have given up, were it not for the rising smoke less than six hundred metres away. A fevered rush for the safety of that smoke was the most foolish mistake these men could've made: it was not long before they discovered themselves at the end of Xingese bayonets, staring down the barrels of rifles that could end their lives in an instant. They surrendered within seconds, wanting to preserve their life more than their mission.

When they were taken into the camp, they were introduced to the leader of the group—Kong Hanzhuo. The man explained his reasoning for being in these mountains—they were not a group aimed at taking down the Drachman Government, but instead hiding away to make certain that Drachman troops didn't attempt to make contact with Xing—an order of the Emperor, he said. He wasn't told why, nor was he told what it would achieve, but apparently it was necessary. He spoke of a group called RIOTE that was in the works, and that they would be the bringers of the new age. At this point, they were offered a new job. They could die, cold and alone, in the Drachman mountains... or they could join RIOTE and assist in the new future. Every man accepted this proposition, except for Taras. He got up, turned around and walked out of the camp into the mountains. He wouldn't be able to destroy it alone, but he couldn't join RIOTE. It wouldn't be right. ██████ wouldn't approve of it, or so he figured.

He doesn't quite recall how he did it, but he managed to make it back into the lands of Drachma, approaching a small town with minimal energy reserves remaining. Collapsing in front of a small home, he could only cry out a name that made no sense to his mind. Every time he tried to say it, more jumbled letters would escape. He didn't know what he was saying. His words were wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Everything was wrong. But they understood. They took him in and gave him food off of their table. He was bathed and clothed, before being given a meagre amount of funds—enough that he could return to Moskovy without difficulty. Moscow would come later—he had a woman to return to.

It took him three months. A man with barely any money and the clothing on his back, separated from home by thousands of kilometres of tundra. He walked where he could—slept on the side of the road—he even celebrated his twentieth birthday alone. He missed the birth of his daughter, and he never got the chance to give her a name. He passed through many towns, explained his situation—some would turn him away out of paranoia, while others would give him small gifts of food and money to keep him going. He started to develop survival skills, avoiding most predatory creatures and keeping the best parts of the meat to himself. He even temporarily had a companion; a wolf that he found and nursed back to health—it would bring him caught food and keep watch over him at night—so much so that the Wolf would become a part of his being.

At the same time, he started to hear rumors of an attack on South City by members of RIOTE. Apparently the city itself was completely devastated, leaving behind only a crater. The name 'Briggs' became synonymous with two people, and those people were only whispered about yet heard everywhere. Part of him longed for power like that—Alchemy. The wolf died protecting him from a bear, and he was left alone to his thoughts once more. Eventually, though, Moskovy finally came in sight for him. He was skin and bone—but with enough muscle to overpower most things that got in his way. As he walked through the streets with his ragged clothing and unshaven face, he received looks from the side of the road—they were all the same people once more. These people still saw him as nothing better than a delinquent. 'He must be a drunk.' 'That poor ████. I heard that he wasn't there for his daughter's birth.' And yet, there she was. He couldn't see her face. He couldn't hear her voice. But he knew it was she. Their hands gripped with that same cold harshness that he recalled, and they shared a loving embrace. Warm tears escaped his eyes and slid down his cheekbones.

When they returned, he explained himself completely. He told her of the betrayal, the entrapment and subsequent desertion of his men. Apparently, he had first been MIA and then KIA, according to his senior officers—he would need to report his presence as quickly as possible. First, however, he would be introduced to the little girl. Blue eyes and soft, down-like hair. A face reminiscent of his own, but also mixed with features that he didn't recognize. Anya. The name rolled quietly and carefully off of his tongue, spoken a few times to make it last longer in his mind. A name that lingered and reminded him of home; he would treasure that forever. Turning to that mysterious and frightening image, he simply spoke of love and a longing that had finally been fulfilled.

Two days later he left, travelling to Moscow to prove his return to military service. He could've remained missing, but neither he nor ██ wanted that. He was quickly arrested and placed into custody—questions were flung at him as to why it took him so long to return, why he didn't contact anyone, why he was the only one left. He answered them all shortly—RIOTE was on his lips every time. 'RIOTE IS A MYTH.' was the consistent reply. Despite wanting his execution for treason, the higher-ups decided that he could have a go at redeeming himself. He was to root out possible traitors within a small section of Moscow. His movements would be monitored, and every possible way for him to go AWOL would be strangled. And yet...

He would wake up an hour later in a building that he did not know. Tied to a chair, he could only stare at a light that burned at the back of his retinas—there was nothing else in this room. He could hear footsteps around him, but nothing more than that. The darkness was too deep for him to see. And yet from this darkness, a man in a suit materialized, carrying a small stool and a briefcase. The stool was placed on the ground with a loud noise, and the man popped open the briefcase and revealed the machine within. The computer buzzed to life, showing an image that could only be familiar and yet alien. A blurry woman, and a child in her arms. 'An...ya...'

'I see that you recognize your family. Good, this is all that I need.' The man smiled callously at Taras; but he didn't see that, his eyes were transfixed upon the pair. 'I represent the group known as RIOTE. We need capable soldiers. I am asking you nicely. Join us, and we will allow them to live. Work with us, and their lives will continue. Refuse, and the child will be first. Continue to refuse, and ██████████ will be next. Taras had no choice. He accepted within moments of the proposal. 'Good man. We ship off to the South in a week. You have that much time left with your family. Spend it well.' And like that, he woke up in the street once more. He completed his patrols—it had only been an hour—before returning to the HQ and formally handing in his resignation. When asked why, his only response was 'family necessities'. He returned home—but he recalls nothing of that week. Everything is gone, up until the day he leaves to go with RIOTE.

Once in RIOTE's clutches, he decided to start something new: Alchemy. He kept it as hidden as he could, and when questioned about it claimed that it was for the benefit of RIOTE. They accepted his argument and let him continue on with his training. He understood everything there was to know about the basics of Alchemy within a year, and then set his sights on Alkahestry. With an idea in mind, he slowly started to develop and build up a proper style of Alchemy. He wanted to move things. He didn't know why, but it felt right. No matter how hard he tried, he could only destroy and rebuild—movement was impossible for him. That was, of course, until he heard of something from the Xingese—Alkahestry. He sought out one or two of the rare race in RIOTE's forces, and asked them to teach him Alkahestry—specifically, Range Enhancement. He wanted to be able to move things properly, in mid-air. One of them knew it, and accepted his proposal.

The training was harder than Taras had ever done before, but by the time he was finished with it he knew that he was strong enough to be able to use it safely. It had been almost a year and a half since he'd left; he'd sent many more letters to ███, though filtered heavily for secrets. He thought of his daughter's safety every day, and when he asked, he could occasionally see a recent surveillance image—he got to watch Anya progress through the screen of a computer.

Eventually, it came time for them to battle Briggs for control of the Fort. He had supposedly been training specifically for this day—they weren't expected to survive, especially not against the Ice Queen and Metal King. For some reason, those names seemed familiar to him, and as he went into battle, he noticed something unusual. Flashes of red hair appeared in his vision—even as they were pushed back, he noticed this mysterious male fighting against a smaller female in blue, eventually managing to defeat her. Although he had to regard him as an enemy... he couldn't help but notice the sadness in those red eyes.

As they retreated, he decided that he needed to fix this. He could save his family... right? Even after all of this, Briggs continued to pursue them. Again, that red-headed man appeared before him, that same determination in his eyes, pushing him to where he needed to go—their captured Ice Queen. In a moment of haste, Taras turned to follow him in. He would help that man achieve his goal, even if it meant losing more than he ever thought that he would. Of course, he never got there. The building collapsed before him. Everything disappeared... but they took Briggs. That was the primary objective, though Taras didn't like it. He had the blood of innocents on his hands, and cried for the first time that evening.

It was at this point that the higher-ups in RIOTE decided that his family would now be expendable. It took seven minutes for the execution to happen—no evidence was left—bar one stupidly-kept copy of the surveillance footage—nothing to show that they were no longer of this world. Actors replaced the mother and child. The secret was well-kept... but not kept well enough. Taras eventually discovered this fact. ███ was dead. So was his daughter. He didn't know anymore. He didn't know anything any more. So he made a stupid decision. He decided to perform Human Transmutation.

He had everything set up. Everything was right for it. He stared quietly at the circle with its ingredients, and focussed completely on the daughter that he loved and yet could never be around. He placed his hands upon the edge and let his energy flow... and flow it did, in a complete 180. It became uncontrollable, pulling away at him, trying to get him to fall into it. He refused to allow it to occur, instead pushing back with all of his might. He would do it. It would hap—and like that, nothing. Darkness. He fell forwards, and the grin of a strange man appeared in his vision for a brief moment. As he landed, his eyes laid upon a disgusting and distorted version of his child... it's only word was 'Da...dda?' As he fainted, Taras realized that he had just heard his daughter's first word... and her last...

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TRIVIA:
      → Speaks Drachman, Amestrian and Xingese
      → Only smokes to calm his nerves.
      → His favorite color is green
      → His preferred method of dealing with RIOTE members is a single bullet to the head. While he could easily torture them, he would rather not waste precious ammunition on dogs.
      → While he has a gruff exterior, he really does love puppies
      → And kittens
      → And anything else that is really really cute
      → But he'd never admit it
      → In saying that, he finds Ophie kinda cute too
      → But that is something else he'd especially avoid admitting
      → He is a strong hand-to-hand fighter

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ALIAS:
→ Dai!

OTHER CHARACTERS:
→ Samuel Hartmann III

CREATOR'S COMMENTS:
→ God, this app... XD If you couldn't tell, it's for Human Transmutation. And his history is purposely distorted and confusing, since that's a part of his past that'll never be revealed to anyone, let alone Taras himself.

FACE CLAIM:

Code:

[b]PSYCHO-PASS[/b] [i]Kougami Shinya[/i]

CUSTOM RANK:
→ COLD AS ICE

OFFICIAL TITLE:
→ Ghost

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[Csilla Angelis]

Archive Date: April 24th!

[Reila Tsukino]

APPROVED

Okay Dai!, you are approved Dai! please enjoy your time on MDA Dai!. Might I say that I love him already.

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